


A Blinded Eye for a Blinded Eye

by Fordanoia



Series: All My Fictobers/Writetobers [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (i mean only in ch 10 and a lil in ch 12 but still), (weLL i guess there are tones of depersonalization through the whole thing really), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Blinded Eye AU, Blood and Injury, Canon Divergence - A Tale of Two Stans, Depersonalization, Gen, Like i ever do anything without stangst lbr, Memory Loss, Mullet Stan Pines, POV Alternating, Paranoid Ford Pines, Stangst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25471471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fordanoia/pseuds/Fordanoia
Summary: When Stan shows up to Ford's house, the door is opened by a brother that doesn't recognize him much less remember him.
Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Series: All My Fictobers/Writetobers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845034
Comments: 24
Kudos: 90





	1. "But I will never forget!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fictober18 Day 11 "But I will never forget!"

Ford stumbled as he was pushed into another unfamiliar room inside of the museum. He should have known not to go into town. No, he _had_ known, he’d just thought he could get away with doing it. 

“Why are you all so intent on erasing knowledge of anomalies?!” He spat out at them, stepping back away from incoming members who moved forward to grab him by his arms.

“It only causes people more and more stress, you’re just adding to the problem.” A relatively young voice said to him.

Panic edged up in his throat as he was forced into a chair in the middle of the room. It was- It was okay, whatever they erased it could be remembered again. He’d remembered something once after Fiddleford had used the memory blaster on him, he could do it again. 

“You’re not helping anyone.” Ford told them.

“We’re helping our founder.”

His mind came to a halt at that, until the blaster started turning in his direction.

“You can erase anything you want, but I will _never_ forget-!”


	2. "Who could do this?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fictober18 Day 12. "Who could do this?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (By the way I am just absolutely taken aback that the last chapter already got over 50 hits???? And 9 kudos?!?!?! Like wooh, bro, if y'all liked that bit you guys are really gonna dig the stuff with some actual meat in it) 
> 
> I actually got 6 more parts already written for this that I'm trying to spread out over this week so I can get to posting the Newer Section(s) I just wrote. All this stuff is like in the 500-1k range btw.  
> This whole miniseries is really just going to be me hopping from the highlights that I wanna write and stay pretty short.

Stan laughed, more from stress more than anything else. He felt like he was going to throw up. “This isn’t really funny, Ford.”

It wasn’t a joke.

 _He really wished it was a joke_.

Ford looked back at him, half nervously shuffling in his spot half… guilty looking. “I’m sorry, ah-” he hesitated again, “sorry, brother.” _He didn’t remember his name_. Everything about the way he said it was stilted, awkward, and uncertain. 

Stan just laughed again, and he could see Ford’s frown pull down further.

“Listen, uh-” he hesitated, then pushed forward, “I need your help. How long ago did you leave?”

Stan sputtered out a laugh. “From New Mexico? I drove straight here.”

Ford paused and stopped entirely, before taking a step back, thinking. 

“What is it?”

“Why, uh- why did you leave?” Ford asked, looking back at him.

“‘Cause you sent me a post card, Ford.” 

“No, I meant-” Ford looked impossibly confused, stopping and shaking his head before pushing forward. “Post card is- that doesn’t matter. When did you leave _here?_ ” He emphasized. “Why were you in New Mexico? Where-” He glanced back into the house. “Where are… we now?”

“ _Oregon, we’re-_ you live in Oregon.” Stan said, ignoring the other questions for now. He could only handle so much of this at once. He couldn’t even handle this really.

“Stanford, just- tell me what you remember, please.”

He paused, concentrating. “I’m… a scientist.” He started slowly. “On the run…” His eyes shifted over the objects inside of the living room. “With uh… a lot of science equipment and… it’s very dangerous. I was… stopping… something…” He paused again for a long time. “Yellow is a bad sign…?”

Stan had to take a deep breath in. “You- Did you look around here for something? Notes for yourself? Notes from- Notes? I don’t know, something?”

Ford gave him a look. “I’ve only been here for a couple hours. I barely even-” he stopped, frowning more out of irritation than confusion, thankfully, with a hand to his head. “I wasn’t suppose to be in town, so I went towards the woods, and I found this place. When I saw it, it felt- right? I think I live here.”

“Wait, you were in town?” Stan started. “Did you see people?”

“No, I have to stay away from people.” Ford answered, almost instinctual, pausing afterwards, before shaking his head and continuing as he explained. “I was somewhere in town square, and I didn’t really see anybody else around. It was the first thing I really remembered though… Well, going through some rooms and down some steps? I’ve tried remember where or when, but I haven’t managed it so far.”

“Alright.” Stan took a breath. “Okay, there’s gotta be some hints somewhere around here then.” He walked around the room, looking for something. Some paper. Maybe Ford had planned this? Hell, he didn’t know, but there had to be something here.

Ford trailed after him, glancing around a bit himself.

“Ha, see.” He smiled, at a pile of papers on a nearby desk. “Clues, we’ll scooby-doo this out if we gotta.” He picked them up to read them.

“Maybe, not- ah-”

Scribbled over and over on the paper was one phrase and scribbles all around and through the words. ‘Can’t sleep’

Ford coughed uncomfortably. “Those were… some of the papers, I found earlier. They weren’t very helpful.”

Stan shuffled through the papers, a growing unease in his stomach as he recognized Ford’s handwriting in nearly all of them. Pages were filled with some nonsense scramble of words or paranoid ramblings about… sleeping or someone watching him. 

He stopped on a page at some writing that was just a bit off. “Who’s this?” He asked.

“I mean… I’m fairly certain I wrote all that so-”

“No. No, Ford, look, this jumble of words is different.” He pointed it out to him. “It’s gibberish, but someone else wrote this. This wasn’t you.”

Ford frowned, glancing over the paper. “That’s not gibberish.”

“What is it then?”

“It’s a coded message.” He explained. “Ci-Cipher. A- one of those.” He read it over, pointing to each of the words. “’Check the front porch… smart guy.’“

That was a start. “Someone definitely wrote that for you.” He said, headed back towards the front door, hand going towards the knob. “Did you find-”

“ _Wait!!_ ” Ford’s eyes went wide and he suddenly grabbed onto his arm, to make him stop. “You have to check first!”

“What?? Ford, what are you talking about?”

“You have to check- check the” the sporadic panic ebbed away, he opened and closed his mouth. “That it’s… safe.” He let go of his arm, avoiding looking at Stan now, quickly dismissing himself. “It’s.. fine. I’m sure, it’s fine. We’re in the middle of the woods, what would be out there? Just go ahead. Go ahead, it’s fine.” He said, tensely taking a half step back to allow him to open the door.

Stan paused, looking back at the door, and put his hand back over the knob. He didn’t open it though. That wasn’t nothing. _Something_ was going on, and Ford couldn’t remember it. “Sixer-”

Instantly, Ford jumped back, making Stan actually turn back towards him again.

Ford was entirely focused on him now, some dead set panic reigned in and held in with a veil of appearing neutral. His expression hadn’t changed much, and already he was subtly straightening his stance again, but everything else… just screamed that he was on edge from something.

(Why was it aimed at him?)

“Stanford?”

“Fine, just-” he waved a hand, barely easing up, “just reminded of a nightmare or something, I don’t know.”

Stan felt shot. “Oh…” Ford really… well.

His mind caught up to him slowly through the pain in his chest. Even if Ford had hated him, he shouldn’t have reacted like that. If anything, he’d be _mad_ , not scared. Whatever that was about… it wasn’t him. 

“Who _the hell’s_ been scaring you?” He asked, starting to get pissed. “And who does this friggin’ guy think he is?!”

“I’m not that scared.” Ford noted quickly (defensive). “Sometimes it just spikes for whatever reason.”

“Either way, I’m not leaving here ‘til I beat someone black and blue.” Stan crossed his arms resolutely.

“Well, it feels like there’s more than one person, so I suppose you’ll have options.”

Stan though for a couple seconds. “Who could do this?” He asked. “Mind wiping, that’s gotta be a pretty narrow field.

“It should be.” Ford agreed. “It feels… familiar? Someone I knew, I think.” He breathed in, then nodded. “Yes, this is familiar somehow.”


	3. "Try harder, next time."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fictober18 Day 13. "Try harder, next time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i don't wanna spam y'all  
> me, after realizing there is no scheduling feature on ao3 (that i can find that): so anyways i started blasting (fics)

Ford blinked as he… was asleep, but very conscious.

He was surrounded on all sides by an ominous forest that felt filled to the brim though he couldn’t see any animals or otherwise. It felt recognizable. He could feel an underlying panic spiking up in him again, but… he was asleep. He could tell he was asleep. (Why had he been so scared of sleeping…?)

“Try harder, n e x t time.” A voice bled through the air, all encompassing and strikingly familiar in a way that distantly split through his chest. 

“What?”

The sort of darkness inhabiting the woods seemed to almost.. pause, vague shapes moving within it slowing as dozens of eyes popped open to stare at him. (So familiar, but even more than that was an underlying tremor of fear. He could ignore it though.)

He wasn’t sure what he was suppose to do actually. He felt like he should run, but… but that didn’t make sense. “Try harder at what?” He asked, looking at the different eyes trying to figure out which one should be the one to look at.

They shifted, some squinting, then just like that they all shut and vanished leaving Ford alone and confused. He suddenly shivered at- a sensation going through his head, like a sharp breeze ruffling through it.

Ford shook his head, taking a few steps towards the woods, and scanning for a sign of life again. Now that he really tried inspecting the darkness it looked more like ooze, and for the oddest reason ‘sea foam’ came to his mind, but he couldn’t say why. It started shrinking back out of his sight though.

“Hey, there!!” The sudden bright voice behind him made him jump.

Ford shouted and spun to see… a yellow triangle in a top hat. (Yellow. Yellow was-)

“Well, is that any way to greet _a friend?!_ ” The triangle asked in mock offense and shock. He spun his cane and hit Ford’s head. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

Ford grabbed at his head, frowning and looking at the triangle. “’Friend?’”

“Of course! Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me!” He laughed, unconcerned.

“… I don’t… actually.” He said slowly, caught off guard. He wasn’t sure what was going on, and then there was that nearly constant pervading feeling of paranoia that really wasn’t settling. 

His eye went wide, and he put a hand up under his bow tie. “Oh… Oh, you’re not _kidding_ , are you?” He asked. “ _Oh._ ”

The response felt mocking, but as far as he could tell the triangle was being genuine. “Well, no- no, I’m not.” He was.. almost irritated, he shouldn’t have needed to even asked that.

“I was worried, he’d get to you…”

Ford quickly caught onto that. “Wait, who?” He asked quickly. “Do you know who wiped my mind?”

He glanced off and audibly sighed sadly. Not that he had any mouth that Ford could see. “Old friend of yours, he was working with you, but MAN did he get jealous?” The triangle rolled his eye.

“What happened?”

“You and him had a falling out! Fiddleford, if that rings any bells.” 

It was…. damn it, how many times were things going to just be vaguely _familiar_ and nothing more. 

“Anyway, ever since you two fought he’s been after you like CRAZY!! Real wild guy too. I wanted to help you out, but WOOF I can’t do much outside of your dreams.” He seemed to rush ahead before Ford could ask any questions, raising his arms out exuberantly. “Anytime you slept, guy would come in and attack you!! He’s a real gizmo sort of guy! Just put cameras every where so he could watch you!”

The more he talked, the more pieces started adding together. The reason he couldn’t sleep, that feeling of constantly being watched, but what about the town being so dangerous-

The triangle waved a hand. “Don’t even get me STARTED on what he’s done to the town either! He’s got a whole cult in there, wiping minds left and right! I’d bet that’s where they got you too!”

“That’s- That’s right.” Ford said. “The first thing I remembered was being in town.” It felt good to finally have some answers, but the uneasy feeling wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Well, I’m guessing you can’t remember anything before that, huh!” 

He hesitated. “No.”

“Well, don’t worry! Your old pal, Bill, is here to help!! That’s me!” He gestured towards himself. “Got a name, you know!”

“I’m Ford.” He said, immediately realizing introducing himself was entirely pointless. The triangle-

“-Yes, and I’m _Bill! Glad we covered that._ ”

Bill clearly seemed to know him already… “Ah, yes. So… how do I know you?” Ford asked.

“I’m your only friend! At least since Fiddleford went and turned on you! You should really remember that!! _Talk about a betrayal!_ ”

“Yes, that’s… Yes, I do.” A betrayal seemed right. Granted, it was just a feeling, all the details blurred, but it was right there for him, strung together with heaps of bitterness. “But-” _there was more_. _There was more to this that he wasn’t getting._ “You said you’re my friend-?”

“And your muse! I really hope that rings a bell!”

As soon as he even said the word, it did- nearly a million of them that made it an indecipherable mess of feelings and concepts he couldn’t untangle. Ford stayed quiet. Bill was… familiar. And everything he was saying added up together.

“You remember playing chess? Tea?”

Almost. He could almost… it was like some bright glowing light dredged under tar that he couldn’t quite pull up. Yellow like-

Bill put an arm around Ford’s shoulders. “Maybe we should play a game to get your mind back to where it _should_ be.”

Without so much as thinking, Ford immediately and roughly shoved Bill off of him. He took a few steps back from him, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. 

Yellow like…. a warning sign. 

Danger. 

Stay away. 

_Don’t get any closer_.

Ford took another couple steps back, unable to put any real reason behind it all. Everything Bill had said _made_ sense. 

Bill laughed, and it was still cheery, but Ford could imagine a cruel edge to it. “Kid, look, it’s a dream! How could I hurt you here?!”

Ford shook his head. He didn’t even know to what exactly. Bill himself or just what he was saying.

“Well, you can go off if you want, but I wanted to fill you in! _Don’t you **want** to know what happened to you?_”

That made him pause. Clues had been so sparse, and some answers would be nice…

Bill’s eye squinted up. “It’s up to you, IQ!”

Ford glanced over Bill, hoping some definitive memory would come to mind to help him decide. There was nothing specific, just distant feelings that he didn’t feel entirely attached to. ‘Bubbling’ moments right along a heavily rooted repulsion that had wildly flared just a few moments ago.

He didn’t know if this would be passing up the solution to remembering everything in time before something tragic happened, or if it was walking over the proverbial edge of a pit that would sink everything. 

A simple conversation wouldn’t do much, he knew, but… somehow it felt immensely dangerous.

“I’d rather not, thank you.” 


	4. "I thought you had forgotten."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fictober18 Day 15 "I thought you had forgotten."

Stan had convinced Ford to sleep, promising he’d wake him up if anything happened or someone tried to come by. It actually wasn’t hard to convince him. He opened and closed his mouth… like he had something to say, but it just wasn’t there. Then he moved on.

It was starting to become a familiar response from him now, and Stan kept hoping that he’d just _remember_ whatever it was he would have said. No such luck so far though.

It was still Ford, but there were so many gaps and he was in a near constant state of confusion. As much as he wanted Ford to remember (mostly everything at least), it was when he _wasn’t_ struggling to remember something that it felt like everything was normal. That Ford was alright even if the entire house screamed another story.

Nervous energy was coming off of him in waves when he laid down on the couch to sleep. Stan was a light enough sleeper himself so he leaned back against one of the couch cushions and eventually dozed off like that.

He woke up to Ford getting up from the couch.

“You alright?”

Ford stopped. Then turned back to look at Stan, smiling. “ _Peachy_!”

Stan started waking up more at the shift of behavior.

He must have noticed his expression changing because Ford’s hand reached out and pushed him back to the couch again. “Go back to sleep, huh.”

“… What’s going on?” Stan asked, fully awake now. Something was really wrong and he didn’t know what was going on with Ford right now, but this wasn’t _nothing_.

“I’m just getting something _real_ quick.” He promised, stepping back from Stan with a wave of his hands. “Come on, I’m your brother, aren’t I? _Relax_!”

This wasn’t like him at all. Not-… maybe Stan was just tired. Tired and stressed. “Yeah… yeah, okay. Just uh be careful or whatever.”

“Of course!” Ford turned into the hallway, and Stan listened to the steps headed through the house, mentally mapping it out.

He half felt guilty for feeling so… suspicious, but he couldn’t get the idea of some alien body snatcher out of his head.

When the steps crossed back over again then passed the room, Stan got up to see what was going on.

Creeping out the door, he followed after Ford staying just inside the hall when he hears the beeps of a machine just in the next room. The room that had the big “important door” Ford had mentioned before.

Ford knew nothing about it besides that it was “important” and “dangerous.” Which was about as descriptive as Ford had been the whole evening, but he continued to emphasize on both of those. Even trying to get the code on it a few times when Stan had suggested there were probably some clues behind it. Stan had even tried a go at figuring out the code himself, but didn’t get anywhere with it.

He edged forward just enough until he could see Ford’s right shoulder and arm. No hesitation, no messing up. He inputted the code and the door opened just like that.

“I thought you had forgotten.” Stan said, stepping into the room. “Seems like you remembered that just fine though.”

Ford’s eyes gleamed yellow in the light from the door, and Stan could see him holding a loaded crossbow now. “Stan, there you are!” He didn’t seem the least bit taken back, one eye squinted up happily. “Shoot! _How could I forget about you?_ ”

The crossbow leveled point blank at his chest and Stan turned back half a second before it fired.


	5. "I hope you have a speech prepared."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fictober18 Day 20. "I hope you have a speech prepared."

The second Ford shot at him, it was like Stan wasn’t even actually in his body. His body went through all the motions of the fight, and Stan recognized it all like he was at the back of his own mind watching.

Ford with a cruel smile twisted up the side of his face, the whole time.  
Ford swinging at him with the crossbow.  
Ford’s eyes flashing yellow now and then, too bright to be real.  
Ford talking like he wasn’t trying to strangle the life out of him.

 _You should have held still_.  
_Dead weight_.

Ford’s head making a cracking sound as Stan pushed him back against the side of the metal door.  
Ford’s body going limp and slumping to the ground in a heap like a rag doll.  
Ford, still on the wooden floor.

After a while sharp burns of pain came to life here and there, and Stan started to realize that he’d sat down on the floor. He just kept staring at Ford though.

He didn’t feel surprised, but he knew he should. Then again, someone attacking him really wasn’t that far from the norm for him nowadays. He wasn’t expecting it from Ford though.

He glanced down at himself and saw blood, which was enough to finally get him to go for the bathroom to patch it up before he’d actually feel whatever it was.

Turned out, he hadn’t completely missed the crossbow bolt, hah. Jumped back fast enough to miss a straight shot, but it must have still grazed him. 

He patches himself up, then goes and sits against the wall near Ford again, the door downstairs still cracked open. He stewed over his thoughts, waiting for Ford to wake up with a foot tapping impatiently. 

You give a guy _one_ head injury and he takes his time waking up. 

Eventually. _Eventually_ , Ford groggily comes to blinking in confusion at the floor then over at Stan once he sees him.

“I hope you have a speech prepared,” Stan tells him, “‘cause I really wanna hear it.”

And Ford just… looks at him, like he was completely clueless. He glanced at Stan and around part of the room like he’s silently trying to figure it out. “I don’t understand.”

“I wanna hear why.” Stan says, pointing at him to get his attention again. “I wanna hear why, and we’re not going anywhere until you tell me.”

Now that he’s saying it, he’s not sure why he wants to hear an explanation so bad. If someone tries to kill you, you don’t stick around to ask why.

Well, maybe some people did, but Stan didn’t. He’d be sure they had some reason. Maybe he stole something from them, maybe he owed them money, whatever. After a couple years, he just wound up accepting it.

So, what if now was the first time in a long time he’d wanted an explanation?! Ford didn’t seem to remember him anyways so it didn’t make sense! He shouldn’t have remembered how to open that door either though.

“‘Why’ what?” Ford asked, pushing himself up from the floor, wincing midway through.

Stan scoffed. “Just why you tried to impale me with a crossbow.” He half smiled. “But hey! I’m sure you got a great reason for that, right?”

“I- I don’t remember doing that.” He says slowly, looking only at Stan now. No more glancing around.

“Well that’s funny because it just happened.” Stan stared right back at him, and waited.

Ford didn’t say anything though. Just looked right back at him, his expression stuck on something half worried and half confused, like Stan had just cracked a really morbid joke that he didn’t get.

“I’m being serious,” Stan said finally, irritated. “I want a damn answer, Ford.” 

He wasn’t even sure what it was going to be. What kind of explanation there was here. He just wanted one. 

When Ford didn’t say anything, he snapped at him. “Ford!”

“I didn’t shoot you.” Ford said, shaking his head.

“Seriously?” ~~Why did it sound like he was telling the truth?~~ “Then who did, huh?” 

Ford glanced over at the front door and back at him. “Maybe- Someone might have broken in.”

 ~~What was going on?~~ “See, that doesn’t change anything even if they did-”

“No! No, someone could be in the house, and if you were hurt-” he paused momentarily, eye scrunching up in a pained expression. “Whoever it is is obviously dangerous, and-”

“I watched you open that gizmo door then shoot at me with a crossbow, Ford!” Stan gestured angrily at the metal door behind him then.

Ford looked behind him, and actually jumped at seeing the door open. His eyes flashed from it back to Stan and the injuries on his face. “I’m- I’m sorry,” he briefly glanced at the door again, in disbelief, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on, but… but this isn’t right.” He said, oddly certain, which almost threw Stan off more than just the sentence itself.

“Not- It’s not ‘right?’ What the Hell are you talking about?” He gestured sharply at the door again. “That’s open!” He pulled up his shirt enough to show off the freshly bandaged wound. “Here’s where the bolt hit me!” He let go of the fabric. “So, yeah! Sorry to break it to you, but it happened, Ford.”

“That’s not what I was saying!” Ford said quickly, putting a hand out as if- as if to reassure him. “I believe you. I just meant this isn’t right. I don’t remember it and- and it doesn’t make sense.”

Stan couldn’t help laughing now, putting a hand on his forehead and pushing his hair back. “Oh, you believe me? What a relief.” He joked. 

Ford was right though, It didn’t make sense. It really didn’t. Sure, Ford could have just been acting this whole time. This _well_ though? Not to mention, why would he, what would the point be? Why pretend like he couldn’t remember anything? If he just wanted to get back at him or whatever, that didn’t help anything.

…It really wasn’t right.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember it, but-“ Ford looked back at him again in earnest, eyebrows knitted together. “I know how this is going to sound, but I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t.” He emphasized, trying hard to convince him, and winced again. “You have to believe me. I wouldn’t…” He trailed off, visibly thinking. “I don’t know what I was like before, but I have no reason to attack you.”

“Yeah… Yeah.” Stan said evenly, standing up and taking a couple steps away just to think. He didn’t think it was an act, but what was going on if-

Ford scrambled up on his feet, the sudden sound making Stan look back at him and catching him off guard.

Ford took a half step towards him, suddenly nervous. “Wait. Please, just wait,” he said, hurriedly talking. “Please, wait. I know- I know I just tried to shoot you and you probably don’t believe me, and I understand, but I didn’t mean it. I- Maybe I was sleepwalking? I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt you though, I promise. I don’t- I don’t know what-” He put a hand to the side of his head. “Please, just listen to me.” His eye squinted up in pain, but he continued with a gradually rising panic in his voice. 

“Just- just-“ Ford’s eyes quickly flitted around for a brief second. “I don’t know what it is, but- _but it’s not adding up_ , and you have to stay! Please, you have to stay.” He urgently grabbed onto Stan’s arm with his free hand. 

“What?” He’d… never said anything about leaving. 

Ford took a shaky breath, his voice shaking as he continued, quieter. “Please, stay. Please, don’t go. Just- just not _yet_. I know that- I know the- the crossbow, but…” He desperately tried to think of something. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was, but I can- I can figure it out. Just please don’t-…” He swallowed thickly.

Ford’s words bounced around in his own head, over and over. He squeezed Stan’s arm, but Stan couldn’t… come up with anything to say right now. 

He was still trying to just understand what Ford was even saying. It didn’t make sense for Ford to be scared about… him leaving. 

Stan looked away from Ford for a moment and sighed, feeling every ounce an idiot. 

Ford couldn’t even remember anything, of course he didn’t want to be left alone. Especially when all he could really remember was someone was after him and there was something dangerous going on.

“Ford-” he stopped though, his eyes catching on the bright red drop in the corner of Ford’s right eye now. It welled up, and…

slipped over the edge of the lid, rolling down his cheek, an unmistakable trail of blood left behind. _Oh, Hell…_

Ford squeezed out the words quietly. “ _Stanley,_ please.”

He instinctively reacted, clasping a hand over Ford’s. “Hey, look at me, I’m not going anywhere. Got that?” Already the words started turning sour in his mouth. If Ford could remember him that probably would have been the last thing he wanted to hear…

The worried gleam in Ford’s eyes finally fell away though and he gave a stiff nod. “Got it…”

He nodded back. “Good.” Stan cleared his throat then, pulling his hand off of Ford’s. “Hey, uh, Ford? You’re bleeding,” He pointed out, “from your eye too. Not to blow it out of proportion either, but that’s _pretty_ bad.” His mind went back to the idea of an alien body snatcher, and he almost wondered if maybe something like that really was the case.

“Yes, that’s- no, that’s definitely not good.” Ford let out a shaky breath and finally let go of Stan’s arm. He swiped a hand under his glasses, smearing some of the blood trail and looked down at the bloodied fingertips. “Did something else happen?” He asked, looking back at Stan.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, well I _may_ have hit your head pretty hard. On some metal.”

“Alright, well- That would explain the splitting headache.” Ford nodded his head slowly. 

Stan grabbed him by his arm to pull him to the bathroom where he’d left the first aid kit out, scanning over everything there. “So uh, know anything about bleeding eyes?”

“It just doesn’t stop.” He replied, distracted. 

He paused and looked over at Ford, who was looking at his eye in the mirror. “What?”

“Ah, no. No, it- the bleeding just has to stop. Apologies. It’s really hard to think right now.” He shook his head, taking off his glasses before rinsing his eye best he could in the sink. “Are you okay…?”

“I already patched myself up. Good as new.” Stan waved a hand.

“You were shot with a crossbow.”

“Takes a lot more than that to get rid of me.” He answered back with a winning smile, giving him a wadded up ball of toilet paper

Ford laughs lightly, holding it underneath his eye and eventually frowning. “I uh… really don’t know what that was or what happened.” 

“Yeah, me neither.” He shrugged. “Maybe this is a like an alien or a ghost thing, who knows.”

“That could make sense.” Ford perked up. “I mean, it looks like I was studying some odd things. Maybe one of them got out?”

Stan shrugged, thinking to the metal door, now open. “Guess we’ll find out eventually, huh.”


	6. "You should have seen it."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fictober18 Day 18 "You should have seen it."

“Down a dimly lit set of stairs, this already feels promising.”

“It could be worse.” Ford found himself saying.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. We could be alone somewhere all the way out in the middle of the woods,” he paused, “and one of us could have an overwhelming sense of dread associated with this location of the house.”

“You are just a bucket of sunshine right now.” Stan deadpanned.

Ford smiled over at him before starting down the steps with more confidence than he actually felt right now. “It really could be worse though,” he said, hearing Stan following down after him.

Stan sighed. “Yeah, still pretty creepy.”

When they reached an elevator, Ford pushed the button for it to open up and they got inside.

Ford felt a gnawing sense of unease as the elevator dropped, but surely if it was _actively_ dangerous he would have put up more security measures or warning signs. “If there’s something alive down here, be careful. Whatever it is.”

“You know… not gonna lie.” Stan said. “If you got your own Area 51 down here I wouldn’t be all that surprised.” It was a comforting idea, ideal even. 

The elevator stopped, the doors opening to… a cold room lined with all kinds of control panels and monitors, along with a couple containers of green liquid.

Ford curiously started to look around at it all, not quite daring to touch anything. He stopped in front of the large green containers. He wasn’t sure if it was just because it was green, but… “This area may be slightly hazardous.”

When there wasn’t a reply, he finally looked around and realized Stan had went through the door into a larger room with…

Ford went through the door, to look at the large metal structure that distantly touched on some large emotion.

“Yeah, uh…” Stan gestured at it, holding his hand out for a long beat of silence then finally letting it drop back to his side and- “I got nothing.”

They were standing between two large cylinder plates on the ground and ahead of them was a single lever before the huge metallic structure. Ford walked towards it, going beyond the lever.

_‘Ford?’_

It was a large triangle balanced on one point with a hole punched through the middle - _through space_ \- with a dimly lit ring of symbols around it of various constellations. Aldaboram. Cauda Ursae. Periculosum Areola…

Ford concentrated. He could almost…

He could see it, the metal frame with only some of the panels welded on, open circuits entwined around the middle ring.

“I… made this.” He said slowly. He opened his coat to take out the journal, flipping to the out-of-place page, and it suddenly sparked.

He excitedly spun back and went towards Stan, holding the page out for him to see. “I made this! Look!” He pushed the book into Stan’s hands and started to point at the schematics. “That’s the left energy charger, there! Then the left side of the structure!”

Ford couldn’t help himself, turning back to look at it all again. “I can remember it! Well- some of it!” That didn’t matter though. He **_remembered_** it. “You should have seen it!”

“What?”

“When it was on!” Ford exclaimed, gesturing around. “Beams of light shoot down from the top ring to the bottom ring, then it’s- a substance? Light?” He shakes his head. “That hole fills with it completely.” He turned back, a smile on his face that wilted a bit actually looking at Stan now.

He didn’t look excited in the least, if anything he seemed sad or disappointed. He smiles then though, but Ford realizes it’s likely for his own benefit. “That’s uh- that’s great, but what is it?” Stan said, hesitating a bit.

Ford quickly loses steam, frowning. “Well, it’s- it’s ah…” He falls into silence, and goes to gently take the book from Stan, scanning over the schematics. _Revolutionary_ , his mind provides, but that’s not an answer. _Something no one has ever seen before_. All his mind can come up with are abstract descriptors that are ultimately unhelpful, but it brings his original curiosity back to life. _It’s going to change the world._

“I don’t know.” He finally admits, looking up from the page. “It’s highly advanced technology, but I’m not sure what it actually does.” _**He should turn it on and check.**_

“Well… you said this whole thing was really dangerous.” Stan said, looking away when he continued. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s great you remember it. Really great.” He cleared his throat, looking at the structure. “But you were freaked about the door, so something’s up with this.”

He frowned, trying to remember. Something was dangerous, but he didn’t know what it was. “You have a good point.” _But it’s not dangerous_. Ford immediately stopped.

“You okay?” Stan asked. “Remember something?”

“Ah, no. No, it’s just…” _It’s safe. He’d made it, after all_. Ford’s stomach felt like it was turning over, and he couldn’t describe the feeling that felt like it was dragging him by his ankle. ~~Excitement, curiosity, dread~~. _How else was he going to find out what it did.  
_“I think we should go back upstairs.” Ford blurted out, snapping the journal shut and holding it to his chest.

Stan looked him over then scanned the machine over like it just did something. “Yeah, yeah, okay.” He pulled his accusatory gaze away and grabbed Ford’s shoulder leading them back to the elevator. “There’s nothing down here to help us figure anything out anyways, right?”

Ford nodded his head, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the machine at his back, sparing a short glance back at it as though it was going to suddenly turn into a monster somehow.

If he turned it on, he would know what it did. Why it was so dangerous. Turning something on was the worst way to find out why it was dangerous though… He’d figure it out later. He could figure this out later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ford may have _one_ researcher nerd pure excitement moment.  
> aldfjasdamg  
> (No lie though, that was a favorite moment of mine. Ford just absolute beaming and excited and over the moon, and Stan lowkey standing back there just feeling hurt because Ford remembered some machine he'd made before he even remembered Stan. And it's not like Ford even meant to remember the other first, it's just the simple fact that it's what happened, which actually kinda makes it even worse.)


	7. Old Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure misery loves company, but so does forgetfulness.

Ford wandered slowly alongside the sidewalk, feeling just a bit of that vague paranoia putting him on edge. He was able to set it aside though, after all there was hardly anyone out and Stanley was nearby. 

He... really didn’t like being separate from him, but Stan was sneaking into some town hall records and he’d assured that it would only take fifteen minutes flat. 

Ford paused as he heard metal scraping and dropping followed shortly by a voice. “Honeysucklin’ Varmint!”

He was just alongside a poorly constructed wooden fence, and as he went along it he quickly found an open gate. As Ford stepped through he realized that this was the local junk yard... or a very bad car sale lot. 

There was a man nearby unsuccessfully trying to pull a bent car fender off. His hair was blonde with... an odd amount of white to it that didn’t seem to match.

“Do you need some help?”

The man turned, pausing briefly upon seeing him. “Well, if you’re offering then sure! I’m just trying to get this here doodad off.”

Ford walked over, grabbing the other end and pulled with the man until it came off.

“There!” The junkyard man knocked on the bender, dirty snow falling off of it. He grabbed Ford’s sleeve then pulling him over to an array of pieces in the middle of being made into some mechanical construct. 

He couldn’t quite tell what it was coming out to make. “What is it?”

“Walking legs to get around.” 

As the junkyard man began to work on the pieces there he occasionally would hand something to him and he’d hold it firmly as something was soldered or screwed in place. After a short while he whistled an instantly familiar tune, likely some popular song. 

“Ford, what the heck are you doing?”

Ford blinked, turning around caught off guard to see his brother coming through the gate, glancing over the junkyard man beside him. 

“I don’t understand?” Ford said, fairly confused at the question. 

Stan again, glanced over the junkyard man then over the pile of melded scraps and parts just beside them, hesitating for a short second. 

“Who’s that?” The junkyard man asked. 

“My brother.”  _ I think _ . Ford instantly felt bad for that afterthought. He didn’t remember him yet still, but he knew it should be true. 

“Here, come on, let’s get back to the house.” Stan gestured for him. 

“Alright.” Ford started walking back towards him.

“See you tomorrow.” The junkyard man called casually after him. 

“See you.” Ford echoed back to him amicably. 

As him and Stan walked back out of the junkyard, he immediately noticed an odd expression on his face. 

“Are you okay?” Ford asked him. 

“Uh, yeah, fine.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Hey, what were you doing with a random guy in the junkyard? What happened to people in town being dangerous or whatever?”

Ford had to stop and think. “Oh... uh, well I suppose he didn’t feel dangerous.”

“How long were you in there for?”

“I suppose only five minutes? You only took ten or so minutes.” 

“Ha,” Stan weakly smiled, “try a half hour.”

Ford blinked. “You said you would only take fifteen at most.”

“Yeah, someone spotted me and I had to slip by with a conversation.” 

“Oh... I guess time just flew a bit then.” Ford said, feeling... vaguely like something was off.


	8. "Oh please, like this is the worst I have done."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fictober18 Day 19. "Oh please, like this is the worst I have done."

As soon as the door shut, Ford hopped off of the examination table and picked up the chair. “Here!” He said, half throwing it into the man’s hands in his hurry, his own hands shaking.

Stan jammed the chair underneath the door handle.

Ford opened the medical folder left behind labelled ‘F. McGucket’, flipping quickly through the information with fingers that kept slipping on the papers. The address was quick enough to find, but he kept looking for anything else that could help. He had to find out what Fiddleford McGucket meant, what he was in this story. 

“Look, calm down,” Stan said, pulling the folder over the counter and flipping through it himself. “Doctors aren’t going to bust through the door with a gun, Ford.”

“I’m calm.” Ford said, skimming the pages as Stan flipped through them.

“You’ve been shaking ever since you started getting examined on the table.” Stan pointed out, much to Ford’s own chagrin.

“I am calm.” He insisted, truthfully. “A little nervous, sure, but I’m not feeling this.” He said, letting the shaking hands hover over the table for a moment. “I don’t know why my body started doing this.”

Stan didn’t say anything to that, and they skimmed through the file quickly and in silence to the end of the files with the most recent visits that stopped a few months back with a broken arm.

“Alright,” Stan said, pushing the folder closed, “so what’s next? Breaking into this guy’s house?”

Ford laughed, lightly, pulling the folder back and opening it to the first page again to stare at the information page. “If he’s not there, I don’t know.”

Stan snorted in surprise. “Wow impersonation and planned breaking and entering.” He teased. 

Ford smiled, still looking at the stranger’s information typed neatly across the page. “Oh please, like this is the worst I have done.”

Blonde hair.  
Blue eyes.  
_VOTMZRIG IVSKRX OORY_

Ford stopped, staring through the paper, remembering horrified, unseeing blue eyes and a sheen of sweat over a familiar face, a cool blue light washed over the memory.

He couldn’t remember any words that weren’t gibberish, but when he tried to pull on the memory more all he could see were angry or disgusted expressions from that same face and him pulling away from Ford, and a prevailing sense of guilt.

“What did I..?” He asked, out loud, a new fear starting to hit him. A new sense of the story with a turn that scared him.

“Ford?”

Ford pulled his hands away from the folder, feeling the tears spring suddenly from his eyes when he looked to Stan. “What if-” The hypothetical turned into such certainty that he didn’t even finish it, feeling tears fall. “This was my fault.” He said. 

Stan paused, looking caught off guard at the sudden change, but Ford couldn’t stop himself. “This was my fault.” He said again.

“You- No. We don’t even know what’s going on.” Stan said. “And- and why would you be so scared if this was-! No.” He finished firmly. “No, it wasn’t you.”

“ _You don’t even know me_. What I was like before this.”  
Why was a dangerous machine in his basement? Why did the first person he remembered look so traumatized? _Why had he tried to kill his own brother in his sleep?_

Stan pulled him into a tight hug that broke through his thoughts. 

Ford reached up to hold onto Stan’s shoulders, needing the contact even if he didn’t deserve the comfort.

“Hey genius, you wouldn’t be freaking out about it if whatever happened was what you wanted to happen.” Stan told him, half sarcastic. “Didn’t you go to school for a friggin’ extra decade?“

Ford hiccuped a laugh, the logic taking apart the building worries in his head to something manageable again, bringing him back down into a grounded reality. “Don’t ask me,” he said. “I don’t even remember my middle name.”

“Heh, It’s Filbrick.” 

“ _Filbrick?_ What an awful name. Couldn’t I have gotten something better?” 

Stan laughed, sudden and loud like the joke had caught him truly and sincerely off guard.


	9. Maybe

They stood outside of the apartment building, side by side and just staring at it.

Stan was standing patiently, like he didn't care if they stood there all day, meanwhile Ford hadn't been able to keep himself from fidgeting since they'd gotten here. 

"Maybe," Ford started, the same way he’d started nearly all of his sentences since they’d left the hospital and he paused.

He couldn’t figure out if it was too many details to be able to parse through or not enough to figure anything out from. No. No, it was definitely that so many of the details conflicted with one another. 

“Hmm?” Stan glanced over at him.

“I know you said it didn’t make sense for me to be scared if I-”

“Christ-” He looked up at the sky.

“But maybe that’s because people were trying to stop me from doing something bad.” Ford continued, over him. 

“You don’t even know what all this is about still. Why the hell are you so sure it’s your fault now?”

“Because it is.” He said, perfectly calm speaking the fact aloud now. “I’m just trying to theorize how that is.” 

In truth, it did still quietly scare him. The nebulous uncertainty of what he’d done, but the ominous certainty that he had done  _ something _ . 

Still, the point Stan had made earlier did keep him grounded. Ford had obviously been scared, terrified even, and that had to mean something. Ford had also tried to kill his own brother in his sleep though, and that had to mean something too...

They fell into a momentary silence, both set in their ideas and trying to think of an angle that could convince the other. 

“Okay, sure. Sure, let’s say it’s your fault, but you didn’t erase your own mind so it’s also someone else’s fault too.”

"I could have erased my own mind. A final good act of an evil man realizing he'd gone too far?"

Stan scoffed. "What? So you,” he lifted his hands out of his pockets to make air quotes, “‘realize the error of your ways’ then decide to make it everyone else’s problem?”

“The first good act of an evil man who’s obviously not great at doing good?” Ford tried, turning to half smile at Stan. 

"I'm gonna go with 'still no.'" He said, only half joking back with Ford.

The smile slipped off Ford's face. 

"Maybe I just realized the best thing for everyone was if I didn’t necessarily exist anymore. A self-executed punishment.” 

“As poetic and whatever as that is, it’s still a stupid punishment that just leaves me, your mailman, and anybody that you usually talk to a mess to work with. You could have gotten yourself a bus ticket or something if you were gonna do that, let police say you went missing.”

Ford made a face, thinking it through. “Fair point." He conceded. 

"Yeah, I got a lot of those." He said smugly. 

Ford rolled his eyes. "So I didn't wipe my own mind."

"Duh."

Ford smacked Stan’s arm without even looking over. 

"Hey-!"

“Mosquito.” He said, feeling a momentary smile come on his face as he continued along in faux innocence. "That still leaves the question of why someone would wipe my mind though."

"Man, what a mystery. If only we were standing in front of a lead that could help-"

“Oh no," Ford interrupted in a calm tone, "another mosquito.” 

This time when Ford tried to smack Stan, his brother easily shoved away his hand and in turn jabbed his elbow against Ford’s arm.

"Got it." Stan said, looking far too pleased with himself. "Now. You done overthinking this or what?"

"Not really." Ford muttered, looking back at the door in the distance. 

He still didn’t know what he had even done exactly to Fiddleford McGucket, he just knew it was bad. 

A voice at the back of his head told him he'd ruined the man's life, and frankly he believed it.

And if Bill, that dream creature, were to be believed, Fiddleford had even sworn vengeance on him and wanted the worst for him. (Which would put him as the most likely person to have wiped his mind.)

Stan put a hand on Ford's shoulder and Ford belatedly realized the frown he'd let happen as he'd been thinking. 

Ford put on a smile, straightening up. "Well, only one way to find out, right?"

Stan looked at him for a moment. "Hey, you don't get any bad feelings when you look at the apartment, right?"

Ford paused to actually look back at it again, searching his head for any instinctive feelings and got nothing. "No?"

Stan clapped the hand on Ford's shoulder. "Then it can't be worse than downstairs." He concluded. 

Ford's nervousness tentatively pulled back. There were definitely a thousand scenarios where this could still be bad, like if he just had never gone to Fiddleford's home, but he was willing to take the momentary comfort since it would quickly be proven wrong or right soon enough. "I guess you're right."

"Yeah, I am." Stan replied, proudly straightening up.

Ford scoffed lightly with no real discontent. "Come on." He said, starting to walk towards the apartment. 

Couldn't put this off forever.

Stan followed, catching up to his side. 

"You should be in front of the door when it opens though," Ford told him, "so at the very least my face isn't the first thing he has to see."

"Stanford."

"What?" 

"Literally the same face here."

"Hell!" Twins. Why was that so hard to remember? "Damn, there's really no making this any better than it is then." 

....

.....................

.............

................

The unfamiliar man at the doorway, paused. “Oh... Oh, no. You’re talking about Old Man McGucket? No, he doesn’t live here. Well, he used to come by here a bit, but I don’t know where he lives now, I’m sorry.”


	10. “This is gonna be so much fun!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fictober18 Day 16 “This is gonna be so much fun!”

“Hey, are you going to sleep or what?”

Ford glanced over at his brother, twin even, as Ford constantly tried to remind himself in his head.

It wasn’t as though he as forgetful, as hilarious as that sentence was considering the circumstances, so he didn’t understand why he kept so easily forgetting such a simple fact.

“Soon. I’m still too awake so I’m just going to try reading.” He offered a smile, gesturing down at the papers written in his own handwriting splayed out in front of him. 

“Well, here,” Stan started, pulling back at the free chair they’d previously stolen from another room. “Give me some and I’ll-”

“No.” Ford said, stopping the chair. “No, really, go to sleep, Stanley. I’m not staying up for long.” He insisted, holding onto the chair.

Stan made a face, not letting go of the chair yet either. “Yeah, I know better than to believe that.”

“Not for too long then.” He said, and hesitated. “I just need some time to myself.”

At that Stanley finally did let go, a bit quickly even. “Oh, yeah, sure.” He said, turning around with his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Okay, but uhh seriously don’t stay up all night.”

“I won’t.” 

Stanley paused for a moment at the door, hesitating with a small frown evident on his face.

Ford smiled slightly at the concern. “I’ll be fine, really. Go.” 

He looked back over at him, frown lifting in return. “Okay.” He said. “Night, Sixer.”

“Good night, Stanley.”

As he heard Stan walk just to the next room over that held the couch, he started to focus back again on the papers. In truth, he was still actually considering staying up the entire night. He knew it wasn’t the best thing for his body, but he couldn’t help being worried about the night before when he’d attacked Stan in his sleep. Whatever had happened...

He didn’t want to think about it too hard right now, anyhow. He’d stay up for half the night and hopefully then nothing would happen. 

As Ford read through his own handwriting, he did try to remember the context behind the mundane notes. 

After only a couple hours he was already getting tired though and his head dipped down onto the table.

When he came to, he was in a dream, underground with large tubes and tunnels shooting out in all directions, as he floated in the middle of the room with the idea of navy blue in his head. He tipped himself back down onto the ground, frowning a bit at the fogged over tubes. 

“There you are, you wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find you in your own head.” 

Ford paused, the voice sounding oddly familiar.

When he glanced behind himself, he stopped. 

Standing there was an exact copy of himself, not Stan, but himself. Except it was like someone else entirely with the way he held himself and walked over near him, a restrained smile on his face.

This was weird...

The other smiled briefly, walked closer to him and started to circle around him, observing him.

Ford turned, uncomfortable being on the end of the analyzing look, and in turn started to walk around in an opposing circle and looked the other up and down as well. 

Again, it looked like himself, though... he already felt a buzzing emotion he couldn’t quite identify.

“So, that’s what I look like when I’m confused, huh.” The other made an unimpressed face.

“Oh, and when was I such a jerk?” Ford fired back, annoyed.

The other smiled freely then, the expression obscenely stretching his face in a way that looked alien and cruel. “Who do you think I am?”

Ford's eyes flicked back over the other’s face again as the possibility pushed at the back of his mind. If all of his memories had been locked away rather than being wiped, and could develop into some kind of sectioned off part of himself...

His own feet slowed to a stop, staring at the other. “No.”

“Yup.” The smile went back down, and he did at least stop as Ford did. 

“I’m dreaming.” Ford said. “You’re not me.” 

Yet even as he denied it he thought about how in a fugue state like this it could very well happen. He just didn't want it to be true because- because the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling upright and there was something quietly sinister in the way the other walked, talked, breathed - existed even.

“You’re right!” He said, far too brightly. “I’m not you because you’re me. Or should I say you’re just the thing holding my place that can’t remember anything.”

As backwards as the sentence sounded, it made sense and the difference made Ford feel hollow. 

If he was just Ford, then this was Stanford Filbrick Pines, true and whole. Terrible in his entirety. 

“This could still just be a bad dream. An imagined version of what I think I am.” He said. “Was.” He corrected himself. (He could think about the implications of what he may revert back into later). 

“I don’t need you to believe I’m real.” Stanford said, considering for a moment with a six fingered hand underneath his chin. “I can give you proof though! How’s that sound?”

He didn’t want proof. He just wanted it to be an overactive imagination. “You can’t do that.” He said slowly.

“Sure, I can.” Stanford said. “When you wake up all you have to do is talk to Stan.”

“Then I can do that just to prove that you weren’t.” His fingers twitched nervously at his side. “What are you saying you are then? Just- all the memories?” 

Stanford smiled, condescending as he ignored the question. “I’m locked up,” he said, “well, sometimes. And at the rate you’re working to remember everything, not for long.”

“You didn’t answer the damn question.” He spat out, trying to ignore the dread pooling inside of him at this point.

A pause. “That's because it was a stupid question! You already know the answer.” Stanford added, coming up towards him to poke him in the forehead, “Even without my memories, you’re still smart enough to understand what’s going on here.”

He stepped back from himself- err not- His brain scrambled with figuring out a terminology for this, for himself, for Him. 

He did understand, but that didn’t mean it was the truth. It might not be true, but if it was- If it was then it finally gave an explanation to last night. “Why would you attack him then?!” He snapped out, before he could give any context.

“Which one?” Stanford asked.

His throat cut out on him. “Which-?”

“Well, Fiddleford or Stanley, of course.” Stanford answered, calm and curious like a cat watching something die. "You pieced together what I did to Fiddleford, right?” 

He bit down hard enough that his vision flooded with red. And as if on cue, the same memory came back. The man panicked, brushing away from him with a fear in his eyes and revulsion on his face.

“Oh, sorry! It’d probably make you feel better if I start saying ‘we’ wouldn’t it?” Stanford continued, as if he wasn’t even there. “It’s just so hard to know what to call a fragment like you.”

“Why would I- you-?!” He- _It-_ gritted his teeth before shouting. “Stanley!” It jabbed a finger out at him. “That was you!” 

There was no doubt about it. If he was in here, and it hadn’t remembered- he hadn’t remembered- “Fucking Hell!” He pushed Stanford back roughly at the shoulders. “It was you. Why did you try to kill him?! Why would I try to kill my own damn brother?!” He demanded.

A short laugh slipped out of Stanford with a smile of disbelief. “You really don’t even remember a feeling about it, do you? Nothing?! _Really?_ ” 

“What?! As though if I remembered something about him that I’d- I’d suddenly want to kill the first person since this that has been helping me?! Even besides that, he’s my brother!” Twin. “I must have grown up with him!”

They must have been on good terms, at least not bad enough to warrant attempted murder.

“You don’t even remember a single thing about him.”

“I don’t need to to know I wouldn’t try to kill him!” 

Stanley had helped him, stuck by him even after that attack, cracked jokes with him.

There was no response to that though for a long moment though, Stanford just looking back at him like he was some odd novelty at a tourist shop on a pier. 

Then Stanford continued pleasantly. “I already did try though, and guess what-”

“No.” He cut him off. “You tried to kill Stan. You hurt Fiddleford.” Maybe even worse, and maybe there were a thousand other worse things too and he could almost imagine them swirling around him like a self-made hurricane. “You’re not coming back.” He said suddenly.

Stanford seemed surprised, a moment of taken back silence. Soon enough, he recovered though. “Oh, of course not.” He mockingly consoled him. “After all, it’s not like you’re, gosh, doing just about everything you can to remember it all again!" Stanford's voice dripped with malice. " _Sure! I'm gone for good, smart guy._ ”

Something about the way the sentence came out ricocheted up his spine and his body felt paralyzed, underlying thoughts shooting around with no rhyme or reason.

Stanford continued talking voice drastically changing to sound like he was as happy as could be. “Hey, just do us a favor until I’m back to normal again, alright?” He said. “Don’t activate the portal.”

“The...?” And it came back to him. The portal. The interdimensional gateway, the source of Gravity Falls’ weirdness. 

A hand on his shoulder. (A bright glow. A tear, a rip full of a thousand different colors.)

“Oh, and keep remembering just like that!” 

He shoved the hand off quickly, quickly ignoring the cascading and jumbled memories and fists curling at his sides. “ _I'm not listening to you_." He told Stanford. 

Yet the absolute rejection had the opposite effect he'd been expecting. The edges of Stanford's lips curled with a restrained, confident smile matched by a knowing look in his eyes.

On impulse, he lunged forward to body tackle the other to the ground. Mid-air, he had a split second realization that grappling with your own self within your psyche was entirely inefficient, and immediately concluded that while true it was also entirely worth it and also since it was ineffectual anyway that he should also punch him too.

The impact hit against the side of his shoulders, but when he hit the ground it wasn't on the other but on the rocky ground.

“Oh!” Stanford’s voice rose with a sudden vibration, as though nothing had even happened.

He pushed himself off of the ground, quickly standing back up and facing Stanford again.

Stanford talked to himself, evidently distracted. “This is gonna be so much fun!” He said before looking back at him again. “The science fair.”

“What?” 

“You wanted proof, right?” Stanford continued. “Just tell him I was thinking about the science fair. Just see how he reacts.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, and at that point, lucidity left him and he didn’t struggle to keep a grip on it, happy to take the ticket away from... this.

Events and forgettable faces passed by in succession, until he was suddenly awakened by a splitting headache, a burning pain in his neck, and pain blooming from his chest that quickly turned into splintering pain within the moment of waking.

Ford blinked up, seeing Stan over him and one eye squinted shut against blood that fell down from a gash on his forehead, warily looking down at him. 

When Ford’s hands clenched, he felt something solid in his right hand already, a handle, and in the same moment he realized that there was a weight at the wrist holding it down. 

And it clicked.

Again. It had happened again.

“I...”

What do you say to a person you just tried to kill a second time? 

What can you say when their blood is still falling, when you can feel it wet on your hands, when they've only been trying to help you, when it’s your own brother.

Something hot fell from the corner of Ford’s eyes, running down the sides of his face, and he dropped the knife from his hand. 

“ _I’m sorry_...”

Through the headache, Ford realizes the weight has lifted off his wrist and some of the pain from his chest eased away too where Stan must have had a knee pinned down into his rib cage.

Stan should be angry, furious, enraged beyond reason - he had every right to be - and instead he’s holding a hand out to Ford. 

“Hey, welcome back.” He said, tired but calm. 

When Ford doesn’t take it, Stan only shakes his hand out again. “Hey, earth to Ford, come on.” He said. “Gotta bandage our cuts.”

Ford guiltily takes the helping hand, and Stan pulls him up into a sitting position and then dizzily up onto his feet as his head throbs, somehow, even worse still in protest to the movement.

Disoriented, Ford willed himself to let go of the anchor that is Stan’s hand in the slowly spinning room.

“Stan, you don’t have to stay.” Ford said, keeping his voice quiet so nothing would happen to it. “Just because I asked, not after I- not when...” He failed to string the message into coherent words, glancing down at his right hand to see the blood there, hoping it was enough for Stan to understand.

He forced himself to say the words again. "You don't have to stay." Repeating what he should have said last time, when he had been too selfish and scared to say the right thing. 

Stan frowned slightly, taking a deep breath and the best Ford could say it looked like he was disoriented too, or upset. “Let’s just stop bleeding here, first.” He said. 

Ford wasn't going to argue. “Okay. Okay, that sounds good.” He responded faintly.

For now... For now, they could just do that.


	11. A Short Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amidst searching the house for clues to Ford's current predicament, the boys make a game out of searching a room full of mysterious experiments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place the day before the 'hospital trip/nightmare with Bord' day, aka this is a flashback chapter.   
> I wanted a levity chapter considering what comes next.

“What do you got?” Ford asked.

“Experiment 1312, makes anything taste like fried bacon.” Stan said, spinning the doohickey around in his hand. 

Ford smiled confidently, holding out a device he’d had hidden at his side. “Experiment 200.” He started smugly. “Translates ghost speech into Latin.”

Stan scoffed. “Oh, so yours goes from one dead language to another dead language. I win.”

“No, you don’t!” Ford immediately argued. “This helps you understand ghosts!!”

“If you’re a nerd.”

“It helps  _ me _ understand ghosts then.” Ford said, undeterred. 

He’d poke fun that Ford didn’t even try to deny it if he didn’t have to argue for his own well deserved victory. “Yeah and mine could make salad taste like bacon, or turkey bacon taste good.”

“If we can’t agree then it’s a draw.” Ford said, setting down the device and already searching for another one. “Find a new one.”

Stan pocketed the device and went back into the fray, searching among all the varying labelled experiments for something. “That’s a stupid rule.” He called over his shoulder. “You’re just going to say yours is better every time.”

“Pick something objectively better then and I won’t!” Ford jeered back at him.

Stan, not so quietly, mocked him.  _ '"Pick something objectively better.'" _

If half of this stuff didn’t have some chance of exploding and doing something completely weird, he’d have thrown something at Ford.

Oh-! Jackpot!!

Stan grabbed the experiment with a grin and turned to watch Ford carefully stepping around the eclectic floor, scanning over labels.

“You picking yours anytime soon or what, Sixer?”

“This isn’t timed.” he responded, not looking over. 

“Well, now it is and you got ten seconds.”

Ford did a quick look back over at him. “Wh- No. No, you can’t make up rules on the spot!”

“Apparently we can since you just did it." Stan then added with a smile. "And now you only got 5 seconds."

Ford quickly scrambled back down around the ground as Stan loudly and casually counted down.

His brother shot back a second or two before he could call time with some metal orb in his hands. 

“ _Ooh_ , a bowling ball.” Stan mocked.

“This-!” Ford said, holding it up by his head. “Is Experiment-” he checked the label, “971.”

Stan nodded his head. “And it’s great for knocking down pins.”

Ford pushed the button on it and without any warning something in Stan’s hoodie pocket came to life and after a moment shot out and went straight towards the orb, smacking into it.

“Finds your keys when you-” Ford was cut off as two set of keys suddenly smacked into the orb, whipping into the room and past Ford’s face. “Oh! These must be mine.” 

Ford pushed the button again, the keys falling from the orb and into his hand. He tossed Stan back his and kept the others for himself, momentarily rubbing at his right temple for probably the fifteenth time today. 

“Not bad, but I still win.” Stan said, pocketing his key with one hand.

“You have something that beats mankind’s long problem of losing your keys when you're just about to go out the door? A problem that has plagued every person for centuries?” Ford asked, going on. “M inutes eaten away over time and adding up to stealing days out of one's very own life?"

“Yeah.” Stan said, pulling out the remote control. “Make any creature start singing ABBA. Experiment 1129.”

Ford paused. “Wh-” his mouth formed on a confused syllable and he stopped. 

Stan smiled. “Better luck next time.”

“No.” Ford said, quickly objecting now. “No, that has to be a failed one so it doesn’t count.”

“Let’s test it then, unless you’re scared of losing the last round.”

“We’ll test it, but when it doesn’t work, I win.” Ford said, putting the ball back down and picking his way back to the doorway. "Come on."

“Where are you going?” Stan asked.

“To find a creature that isn’t us!” He said.

* * *

“You think it’s a ray?” Stan whispered.

“Probably a microneural wave beam.” Ford whispered back. “Just shoot already, before it gets away.”

Stan rolled his eyes and pressed the button aimed towards the tree branch.

Nothing came out, and there was silence.

“I think I missed.”

Ford looked back at him with a victorious expression already on his face. “Or it doesn’t-”

A slowly beginning humming rhythm came from the distance, cutting Ford off. 

Stan straightened up excitedly and Ford whipped back to stare.

The chipmunk, still holding onto a frozen over acorn hummed, it's little head bouncing in time before it opened its mouth and began singing in a high pitched voice. “ _Disco giiiirl, coming through~_ ”

“No!” Ford put his head in his hands as his shout scared the creature off. It scurried up the tree and out of sight, now singing the bars to another one of ABBA’s hits.

“Ha! Eat it, poindexter!!” Stan crowed, quickly taking the victory. “I win!”

Head still down in his hands he let out a long suffering groan, before finally begrudgingly lifting his head back up. “ _ Fine _ .” He said. “Fine, you win.”

“That's right, I did." He patted Ford's shoulder then. “Nice try though.”

Ford scoffed lightly. "You just happened to pick the better side of the room.”

"I've got great intuition, what can I say?"


End file.
